An Unconventional Courtship
by 23tryintomakeachange
Summary: Austria/Fem!Prussia. With the help of a friend and a gold digger, Julchen finally puts her foot down and gets the respect she deserves from her man. Crappy description is crappy. Warnings inside.
1. How to Cockblock Yourself: a Guide

**Hello lovely people who decided to click on and hopefully read this story, first of all, thank you. Secondly, I'd like you to know that I'm aware of my grammar issues and I've fixed them to the best of my ability... This is my first chaptered fic (although it's probably only going to have 2-5 chapters tops), and I'm pretty new to the game, so bear with me if my prose is kinda shotty. I'd really love to hear what you guys think and I'd also appreciate any concrit anyone can give me.**

**Warnings: possible OOC, breaking the fourth wall (but very briefly), fem!nations and heterotalia, sexual frustration, and shitty angst. I know that the issues and that the entire concept is kinda overdone, cliche, and kinda ridiculous, but I'm trying to juxtapose it with the nature of their relationship as well as the (hopefully) humor through out. Let me know how well or badly I accomplished this?**

**Mentions of: Fruk, Spamano, Gerita, DenNor, Lietpol, plus a tiny bit of RusPol and PolHun. Fem! France, Spain, Italy, Denmark, and Poland. Plus Mangary.**

**Ok, with that, here it is...**

* * *

It was looking like it was to be a good day for the Edelweiss nation. He had had a pleasant, reassuring meeting with boss earlier, leaving him to have time to play the piano before lunchtime. Which leads us to now—his fingers moving in horizontal motion, creating a beautiful melody—lost in his own little world. He didn't even notice when a certain albino slipped into his music room and sat down beside him on the piano bench at some point during the piece.

"Ugh, finally," she drawls out, "I was about to fall asleep. Geez Specs, could you have picked a more boring song to play?" Austria suppresses a cringe, choosing to ignore her jab. He simply stands up and leaves the room. Sure enough, he hears her heavy-footed steps trailing behind him. She quickly catches up to him, and presses herself against her back. His step falters when he feels a surprisingly soft yet lean body practically snuggling into him, then wrapping two snow white arms around his waist. Her forehead rests against his shoulder blade while she burrows her face into the crease where his arm meets his body. Most people forget that she is, in fact, fairly shorter than Austria, probably because her ego adds many centimeters to her persona. He was happy that she can't see his face, a hue of a flushed pink has replaced his usual creamy complexion. He takes a deep breath, then shakes himself free from her grasp.

"What do you want, Julchen?" he asked exasperatedly, not in the mood for her nonsense. "Roddy," she pouted, "I'm shocked by your inhospitality! Surely, this isn't how _one in_ _high society_ is supposed to act..." She answered with a shit-eating grin. Suppressing a growl, he turned around to give her the evil eye. But he almost stopped in his tracks—she certainly looked quite...delectable today—especially in Roderich's eyes. Her usual un-styled, flat hair was thrown into a messy up-do (she must've taken the convertible and needed to keep her hair out of her face), but my, did it look good. She also chose to don a tight tank top, fashionable combat-like boots with the flaps rolled down to her ankle, a micro mini skirt, and a pair of fishnet-like tights with intricate floral patterns but had regular stocking material at the top part of them starting at the upper-middle thigh. They made her already long legs go on for miles, and her skirt was so short that he could see the transition of the two materials slightly peeking out from underneath. God, how he wanted those legs wrapped around him as he fucked her into the wall—_what?! __Verdammt__, __Österreich__, get it together!_ Essentially, she was looking entirely _too_ tempting, and that opinion was formed without even looking at her face: unnaturally dark lashes (literally, she loved it when mascara was invented and he honestly didn't care that it was the magic of cosmetics that helped, uh, enhance her natural beauty), that residual slightly pink tone staining her cheeks, these (surprisingly natural, bearing them since the 700's) red, red lips that he secretly wanted all over his body... Judging by her expression luckily his hidden desires aren't evident on his face.

He almost missed a beat from the distraction in front of him, but was quick to retort her quip. "One in high society isn't meant to entertain, nonetheless even associate with commoners," her expression faltered, "and we ideally are not to even acknowledge the trash." He snootily stated, gesturing to her on the word "trash." At this she was trying her best not to look utterly offended. "Well," she started, the smug expression beginning to return to her face, "you certainly didn't mind 'acknowledging the trash' last week when you were screaming my name... Why, I even recall you begging me not to leave and spend the night with you." He scoffed, but didn't say anything. She won this round.

His relationship with the Prussian was always a complicated one. They first kissed in the 900's, and both were secretly hooked ever since. He knew that any war involving both him and Julchen would result, in some shape, way, or form, in amazing, passionate sex between the two. The fact that they've managed to keep their physical relationship a secret for all this time made their trysts even sweeter. Despite unwillingly falling in love with her due to hundreds of years of profound and revealing pillow talk they both shared, he made sure to keep his feelings to himself. His frau, on the other hand, could barely contain hers and blatantly expresses them when she needs to the most (most notably: when after the Wall came down). Sure, he would drop a subtle hint now and then to keep her coming around, but he refused to submit and make himself vulnerable to her. She only initially revealed hers when she had nothing left to lose—thoroughly humiliated enough by the Allied powers all those years ago.

Coming back to the present, he quickly formulated a response to give him the final word in their little verbal spat. _This round isn't over yet..._ "Yes," he started, "well, while I don't blame you for trying to deny your place in my life, I'd prefer you to do it somewhere else. I'm in no need of your services today, and looking at you gives me the deepest displeasure. That's the thing about trash—it's unwanted matter that has no more use or purpose for its owner—it can easily discarded. If I feel the need to make you useful again, I'll call you to come over and even reimburse your travel expenses," explaining this to her in a condescending, scathing tone while pretentiously closing his eyes halfway through his speech. Then with a smug, malicious chuckle and a belittling "shoo-"ing motion Austria continues on, "go on now, out the door with you..." When he finally opened up his eyes and fully processed what he said, he knew that he's gone too far. If the tears forming in her eyes (which she was desperately trying to blink away) weren't enough of an indicator, he knows that insults and arguments aside, the two, at the very least, have an underlying mutual respect for each other. The only unspoken agreement and understanding between them, and he has just completely violated it. He opens his mouth to apologize, his expression being that of shock and remorse, but is quickly cut off by a swift yet sharp slap to the face. The face she then shoots him practically breaks his heart. Most likely, its original intent is to inflict death onto its viewer but it only served to show the hurt and betrayal that he's caused her to feel. Roderich is actually quite happy to taste blood in his mouth, although he knows he deserves more punishment than that.

Again, before he even has a chance to apologize, take her into his arms and rectify the situation, she's already storming out of his house. He runs and calls out to her, but by the time he makes it to the front entrance, she's hopping into her car and reeves the engine. Not giving him a second look, she steps on the gas pedal and rolls out of his extravagant, circular drive way. She is gone.

He feels awful. Ok, not 'after The Great War' awful, but awful nonetheless. There is a sharp pain in the depths of his stomach, an ache in his chest, bile rising up his throat, and an overwhelming sense of dread that captivates his mind. _Scheiße! _Part of him wants to whisk her away in his arms, give her the sappiest declaration of love that the planet has ever seen, and beg for forgiveness. This desire of his is uncharacteristic for him and disturbs him greatly. Other unnatural thoughts appear as well. They flood his head, all urgent and intimidating. He simply can't get his mind off of his silverette. He needs her and is simply just a fool if he thinks otherwise. He makes some tea and goes out into his garden to help him think. _How do I get back_ _in her good graces?_ he thinks. Austria comes up with some ideas but he knows that they won't work...he, much to his displeasure, concludes that he would need to tell her his feelings. _But how?_ "Ich liebe dich" is a phrase that he has never said to anyone before in his life. "You're such a great friend;" "you're like a brother/sister to me;" "I cherish our relationship and/or our time spent together;" yes: but he has never directly told anyone that he loves them even in a platonic or familial way. Roderich has honestly never truly _loved_ anyone in all of his years. Well except for Julchen, that is. That woman is a tempest, constantly raging and mixing everything up. However, he loves that about her. He can finally freely admit his feelings to himself, but he knows that he won't be able to say them out loud—he's too proud.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a sleek, expensive Mercedes-Benz convertible, Prussia practically flies through the outskirts and then suburbs of Vienna. Feeling utterly humiliated, she just wants to go home, drink beer, and tell Julchick about what just happened. [She would've brought Julchick with her, but: a) tiny bird + open-top vehicle + autobahn = disaster; and b) she thought that she was going to get laid so why bring her awesomely bitchin' little chick with her?]. When she finally makes it home, she executes her previously made plan. She has already drank about 1/3 of a freshly opened keg when Julchick finally decides to plop down and burrow into her messy bun (she never bothered to take it out). After recounting the tale to her ever most trusted sidekick, she rants on.

"How fucking _dare_ he?! Insinuating that I'm some kind of personal whore... I almost want to ask Poland to give him back Silesia just so I can snatch them from him all over again—claim his vital regions one last time! Ugh, I know that he probably doesn't actually think that about me, but dammit I'm still fucking pissed at him for saying that to me! H-he can't really think that about me, can he? Arschgeige! When did I start caring what he thinks anyways? This would've never affected me five hundred years ago...did I grow soft?

No. NO. Nien—I'm much too awesome for that. I mean, who cares if I told him a few times that I love him and he's never said it back...that doesn't mean that I'm the attached one, does it? What the hell am I even saying? Of course he's the attached one, who wouldn't want a daily dose of mein awesomeness in their lives? That sissy priss needs me, I'm sure of it. Kesesesesesesesese...I'm so awesome. So maybe he had one lucky shot in humiliating me, it won't ever happen again. I'll get back at him—no one fucks with me and gets away with it. Besides, he must be forgetting who the Queen of Covert Condescension is, and that of course, is the awesome me!" She finishes her drunken soliloquy by prancing around her room and refilling her stein, but not before shouting the words "three beirs for sweet revenge!" Now with about 3/5's of the keg gone, she gets into bed. Drunkenly remembering her declaration for "sweet revenge," she thinks (out loud of course) how she should go about doing it. Plotting revenge is second nature to her. Romance, however, is not. Befuddled, she decides that she needs to call and ask someone for help on the matter. She thinks about which one of her female nation counterparts she can ask.

_France? No, she'd just get all nosey, laugh at my question, give me a shit idea, then tell everyone that I'm having some type of relationship problem. Besides, didn't she mention that she was going to be kept prisoner by that bushy browed douchebag of a washed up Empire at The Tower of London and become the new jewel in his Crown (or some stupid fucking shit like that) this weekend? _

_ Spain? Nah, although she is good at taming the bulls, Romano's made her soft over the years. C'mon, we all knew that the little Italians were little bitches, but seriously, he's secretly so ridiculously sappy it makes me want to vomit._

_ Italy? Nein—although she would probably be able to give me some great advice, she'd blabber everything to Ludwig and he'd make a big ass deal about the relationship. Besides Italy, Austria (possibly Japan) and I are the only nations that he feels actually comfortable and not awkward around. He'd probably flip a shit at Austria for sleeping with me, considering how he handled the whole Brandenburg situation... Or even worse, Chiara would tell me about her sex life with mein kleiner bruder—EW, EW, EW, EW, EW! I'm not even going to go there._

_ Denmark? She'd invite herself over, drink mein beir, tell me about her sex with Norway (and how she makes him say romantic/emotional shit in the heat of the moment or else he can't cum and/or purposefully tries to deflate his erection by talking about her yeast infection of '09, lmao. Or how she walks around in her sexiest lingerie doing innocently sexy things, and not letting him touch her at all.), which would make her horny and cause her to then leave to once again have sex with him. Although Mathilde gets what she wants, her methods are a little too needy for my taste..._

_ Poland? Well, she's been married to Lithuania for centuries and he _still _follows her around like a puppy despite being the proud nation that he is today. After becoming friends with Felicja behind the Wall, we shared secrets with each other all the time. She loves to boss people around so she'd tell me exactly what to do and how to do it... _She took his fucking capitol and he's still in love with her. I remember when that guy kicked my ass back in the day _(although Latvia mentioned that the whole Vilnius thing was resolved due to Poland's oral fixation and Lithuania's need to relieve _a lot _of tension over the years. But whatever, that's not the point. Blow jobs can't solve everything.)_... _She's perfect!_

Digging up her phone from God knows where, she finds Felicja's number and presses "send." It rings a few times before she answers. "What's up, suka?" comes her sassy greeting. Julchen can't help but drunkenly giggle at that before responding, "Hey arschloch," she starts off with a slur, "I need your help with something."

"...Are you drunk?"

"Uh, ja." All Prussia hears coming from the other line is an appreciative chuckle.

"Nice. So, what do you, like, want my help with?" This is why she loves the Polish woman, ever since becoming friends, she always has time for her drunken antics and doesn't judge or, to her knowledge at least, tell anyone else about them (if her bruder found out about them he'd be pissed). How were the ever enemies?

"Long story short, I need to get revenge on this guy that I'm sleeping with. Also, if there's a way to make him confess his love and desire for me, that'd be great too."

There was a pause. "Like, duh," finally came her reply, "you just make him jealous. Show him that he's not the only one who wants some of you... Why do you think I let that gigantic freak touch my ass and explain to me what 'becoming one with' him, in a nonpolitical context, means? And then I can discretely flash some major cleavage at Hungary, so he'll come over as well, then before you know it, Ivan and Daniel are arguing who's gonna hook up with me. Liet gets SO jealous when that happens. You've seen it, he throws me shoulder...and becomes a total beast in between the sheets. It's the hottest thing ever when it happens to you." She paused for a moment and then continued, " I mean come on, the answer is pretty freaking obvious, how did you not think of that?"

_Dammit, she's right. It _is _obvious. Cliché, totally manipulative, and dangerous: but completely obvious._ Julchen groaned, thanked her and hung up the phone. Now the only thing she has to do is devise a plan. _Damn her annoyingly accurate Eurovision song, unlike her I don't have fucking rack that she, and all the rest of the Slavic nationettes, do. Well, if he's been into _this, she thinks whilst looking down at her lanky—yet sexy of course—body,_ for this long, then not having a shit ton (or even a substantial amount) of cleavage shouldn't be an issue. _Satisfied with her shockingly above average drunken mental reasoning, Julchen attempts to plot. Opening the little "notes" icon on her phone, she types to the best of her ability: "make that cake-eating bastard jealous as hell." She means to add more to the page, but before she knows it she's already being lulled to sleep by Julchick's soft chirping.

* * *

Felicja puts her phone down after her drunk and desperate East German friend ends the call. Shaking her head and chuckling, she goes back to the living room of her husband's house and sets herself back down onto the couch. She worms her way back under the blanket, snuggling up to her ultra cuddly Lithuanian. He resumes the position that they were in before her phone rang, wrapping his arms around her, pressing her is his body.

"Seems like you just had a very interesting conversation..." he says lowly into her ear, while brushing her long, blonde locks back out of her face. She instinctively shivers slightly at his breath meeting the sensitive skin of the back of her neck. Ever the bashful one, she also can't help but blush a little, considering what he has heard.

"You heard all that?" comes her uncharacteristically dainty reply.

"Yes," he states in an amused manner. _Shit!_ She frantically thinks as she squints, contemplating how pissed he's going to be at her. _Wait—in a _what _manner?!_

_ "Why the hell are you so amused by the revelation of my dirty tricks?"_ She means to simply keep this thought internal and then coyly comment on his tone, but the thought simply spills from her lips.

"You honestly thought that I didn't know?" he manages to answer her, save a few escaped giggles. Manly giggles, mind you. Our dear Polska, however, is almost to flustered to speak.

"Uh, yes?" she squeaks out. Really turning towards him and studying his face, she's surprised to find that there isn't a lick of anger in his expression. Incredulously, she blurts out, "wait, you're not mad?"

"No. Although it's a bit insulting that you try to manipulate me like that, it's nothing that I can't handle. Your dirty tricks no longer surprise me. In fact, they haven't for a long time. I more so expect them at this point." Ignoring his more or less direct insults, she allows him to continue on. "Besides, I rather _like_ this game. You of all know how much my country has weakened over the years... It's rather _nice_ to conquer something again. The adrenaline rush, the feeling like you have unlimited power and strength, coming out on top—it's exhilarating. Plus, seeing the look on Russia's face when I take what he can never has is _always_ satisfying..." He ends his explanation with a smirk, and Felicja suddenly finds herself heavily breathing whilst dampening her panties.

Toris takes advantage of his wife's current situation, transforming his smirk into an absolutely predatory expression, snarling slightly before pouncing on her. She lets out a surprised, feminine (which he finds utterly sexily adorable at that moment) yelp before falling onto her back. Off the couch and the floor. Normally, she'd be beyond pissed at him for knocking her down, but right now she simply relishes in the feeling of his body on top of hers. It's times like this where she truly remembers why he was known to others as a 'fearsome wolf' back in the Middle Ages. Coincidentally, it's these are also the times when she has uncontrollable, consecutive orgasms. Their lips meet, and for the next few hours The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth is alive, well, and back in business.

* * *

Back at Austria's house, Roderich is still being assaulted by his guilt and racing thoughts. _There must be some other way to confess my love for her without the use of words..._ Much like the albino's dilemma discussed before the last line break/slight subplot with Poland and Lithuania, the answer is staring him (quite literally seeing as how he is in the solution's designated room): music! He will write her a song describing his love for her, set up a meeting with Germany at the Beilschmidt's haus, bring her: flowers, a cake that he's going to bake for her (which will have as much chocolate, sugar, and butter as possible), and his violin. He will then find her, play her the song and all will be well. Yes, Mozart _himself_ would be awed by such a plan. Except Mozart would question Prussia's ability and aptitude to discern such a message from a composition. However, Wolfgang didn't know Julchen like Roderich does. Underneath her love for that debauchery of a "genre," _("Home Music," was it?_ _I'm rather sure that's what it's caused by those _youths_._ He thinks to himself as he lets out an involuntary shudder at the thought.); he _still_ can't get that blasted "Disco Pogo" song out of his head, there lies a secret appreciation for classical music that only _he_ knows about. This knowledge leaves him with a dreamy, self-satisfied smile on his face. Shaking the dopey expression off of his face, Austria quickly scrambles to find some staff paper and a pencil. Finding his aforementioned weapons of choice, he then goes to work, revealing his most intimate feelings through the composition of song on a page.


	2. (A Lack of) Texts from Last Night

**Hello my lovelies! I first just want to thank BrownFeather for giving me in-depth and incredibly helpful reviews (the fact that you took the time to write all of that really means a lot to me)! I revised the first chapter using her reviews as guidance :D**

**Secondly, I just want to put it out there that I meant to have this out fairly sooner. Especially considering that this is just a filler, baby chapter (I had this much written and just wanted to publish _something)._ The rest of the plot and everything is pretty much planned out at this point, so writing should be smoother so I'll hopefully update more often. **

**(For the four or five of you who already read this chapter when it was originally uploaded, I added a couple of paragraphs describing Austria's next day experience. Sorry for the confusion-I just didn't feel the need to give two paragraphs its own chapter...)**

* * *

Julchen wakes up feeling like utter Scheiße. Head pounding, vision blurred, stomach sloshing, a burning in her throat, joints aching—she rolls (read: falls) out of bed into a pile of vomit she doesn't remember creating. _Well that's just fucking great._ Dragging herself up the basement stairs, she finds Ludwig at the kitchen table easting (a late) lunch and pretending to be bothered by Julchick's presence. Hearing her coming up the stairs, he greets her with an outright scolding. "Schwester, I demand that you be more responsible. When I came down here for breakfast this morning your bird was slumped on the table, clearly very hungry. Luckily I was there to feed her. Animals are living creatures and need to be respected. For Gott's sake Julchen, must I do everything for you?!" He took a bite of sandwich and looked up at her for the first time that day when he didn't get a response. And oh boy, was she a sight to see: dazed, raccoon eyes, an abandoned rat's nest plopped on top of her head, the vomit on her face and neck, how her clothes had ridden up, not to mention crooked and crumpled—she was a mess. Unfortunately, this isn't an uncommon sight for him. Not caring about hangover, he begins lecturing her again in a louder voice as she does her best to tune it out and get the cleaning supplies. She goes back downstairs, ignoring her brother's frustrated words, and tries her hardest to clean up the mess in her current state. After she deems it 'clean,' she showers, gets dressed, and returns up stairs. Julchen is pleasantly surprised to find a glass of ice water and a plate of still-warm breakfast waiting for her. _Aw, West really does care..._she thinks to herself in a sing-song joking tone. After she eats and cleans up, she gets down to business.

_Why did I get drunk, again?_ Still pretty hung over, she draws up a blank. Deciding the best place to start would be to reconcile any drunk texts and calls she may've made, she returns to her room to retrieve her phone. Her quest is made a lot easier once she unlocks the rectangular device. It opens right back up to the notes section, more specifically, to the entry that she had created last night. The entry titled "revenge," the only thing written is: "make that cake-eating bastard jealous as hell." A sudden rush of pride enters her as she relishes in her superb drunk typing abilities (in reality only made possible with the help of autocorrect, but let's not dwell in the details). Her smug expression fades, however, when she realizes that she's still confused as to why she needs to get revenge.

Prussia decides that she'll to come back to it later, once she has her head cleared. She searches for her awesome chick, who quickly forgives her owner for her negligence, settling back into Julchen's hair without resistance. The pair go for a walk to get some air. It's sunny out and despite the sunglasses and sun block she's wearing, Prussia is still bothered by the closest star. "Damn albinism..." she grumbles to herself. Deeming that the breeze and Julchick's blatant delight are worth it, she toughs it out. They eventually come to a farmer's market where she gives in and buys a big carton of berries for the two of them to share. She lies down on the grass and Julchick perches in the grass right next to her. They slowly eat the berries one by one, Julchen occasionally petting her yellow friend with her index finger. A little while after they finish their snack, Prussia can feel that her face is in the early stages of burning up. Taking that as her cue to leave, she gets onto her knees, pokes her slumbering bird awake, lifts the both of them up onto her feet and they make the journey back home. By the time the Teuton unlocks the door to her (read: little brother's) house, it's approximately five in the evening. She is no longer hung over.

She then tries for the second time that day to recount yesterday's events. Despite being a bit hazy, she's able to fit the basic pieces of the puzzle together. She can't help but feel pissed and kind of insulted when reflecting on it, but all that she can recall is: driving to Roderich's house, not getting laid, bitch slapping him, and talking a lot. She has a feeling as to whom she confided in, but double checks her phone's call log for confirmation. _Yes,_ Prussia reminds herself, _we called Poland for help._ Although this all of this information is still very scrambled and out of context in her mind, she feels good about following through with her drunken conclusion regarding a certain Catholic Germanic. Which brings her back to the note set on her phone: revenge.

* * *

Back in Austria, Roderich huffs in exasperation as he struggles to find the exact combination of notes to create a melody that perfectly describes his feelings. He woke up at his normal time of seven in the morning, although much to his dismay he found himself at his desk where he must've fallen asleep composing. Despite feeling uneasy due to yesterday's turn of events, he's insistent to go on as he normally would. Austria was determined to not let it bother him. He ate his usual modest breakfast, got washed up and dressed as normal. He then went to his study, filled out that day's paperwork, read all of the briefings, checked in with his Parliament, and exchanged a few emails with the President, Chancellor, and President of the National Council. Afterwards he forced himself to eat lunch, decompressed by playing some of his favorite pieces (became too tempted to continue composing,), made himself some tea, grabbed his current read from his library, ventured out to his garden where he finished the novel whilst sipping the hot beverage. No matter how pleasurable these activities were for him, they failed to be sufficient distractions. '_The idle mind is the Devil's playground,'_ and Roderich couldn't get the absolutely hurt expression of Julchen's face out of his head. It makes no difference—he could even have followed in Felix Baumgartner's footsteps and jumped out of an airplane—nothing would've held his attention long enough to prevent him from thinking about her.

Which brings him to his current predicament: crouching over the portable desk, twisting his torso every so often to test out the freshly created tune on the keys of his piano. _Another failure,_ he thinks to himself as he turns back to the desk. He audibly sighs as he crumples up the wasted staph paper, too worn from continuous erased pencil marks to be usable, and throws it into the recycling bin. Austria reaches over to grab another sheet but finds that he just used the last one. He lets out a very improper, aggravated groan before pushing the makeshift desk out of his way to release him from the depths of his music room. His upper thighs, butt, back, and neck are sore from exercising his previously horrid posture on the hard, unforgiving piano bench for so long. Walking into the kitchen for a glass of water, he's surprised to find that it's pitch black outside. Pushing up his glasses to rub his eyes, he fetches himself his desired water and drinks it in one big gulp while reading the kitchen clock. _It's 1:07 a.m. already?!_ Roderich gets himself upstairs, washes up, and lies in bed. Unable to fall asleep, he swallows his pride and creates a "Disco Pogo" Pandora station on his phone (and subsequently dies a bit further inside). He listens to it until he can no longer keep his eyes open, barely able to shut it off before sleep claims him.


	3. The Thirst Is Real

**Hello, sorry for being MIA for awhile (geez, it's almost been a month!). I haven't given up on this or anything like that, don't worry. Another chapter should hopefully be coming very soon, seeing as how I've already started working on it. **

**Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed! Another shout out to my girl BrownFeather for being awesome and reviewing my crappy chapter, I really appreciate it! **

**This chapter has a lot of side story, so watch out for that. On that note, there's some twincest in here (sorry, I'm in love with CanAme), so if you're not cool with that sort of thing I'm sorry.  
**

* * *

By the time Julchen's guzzling down her wurst that next morning, she remembers everything that happened the day before. With her sudden jog of memory comes her revived thirst for revenge. His words pierce her mind, ingraining itself into her memory: _"while I don't blame you for trying to deny your place in my life, I'd prefer you to do it somewhere else. I'm in no need of your services today, and looking at you gives me the deepest displeasure. That's the thing about trash—it's unwanted matter that has no more use or purpose for its owner—it can easily discarded."_ She can only think about how much of a damn bastard he is and that he deserves the worst of the worst. Considering Poland's idea, Prussia devises a foolproof plot to trap the damn Austrian in his testosterone-fueled instincts. The "plot," consisting of her seemingly being _involved_ with another male nation and Austria finding out, is not her best work by far. Then again, her quests had mostly been a lot less...frivolous. She shakes her head clear of the thought, not in the mood to handle another one of her "what the fresh hell has my life come to?!" crises again. The once proud nation returns to her master plan and tries to work out the finer details.

Twenty minutes later and she's still at a loss: _who_ _the fuck can I realistically and easily use?_ Not wanting to turn this into a year-long expedition, she tries to think of different nations who would be casual enough to go and interesting in going on a date or two with her. Unable to think of anyone relevant enough for Roddy to care (only that super thirsty, Nordic—but will always just be Baltic—wannabe comes to mind. Despite his recent economic strength, Estonia wouldn't be able to threaten anyone's manhood for at least another fifty years or so...), she turns to good ole social media to help her decide. And no, Julchen has enough common sense to post a public query on her twitter and/or blog, so that's not where she goes to sift through potential fake nation-mates. The albino quickly types the familiar URL into the address bar and lands on the homepage of the website that's made to be the place for friends: MySpace™. loljk, this isn't 2005. Obviously, she heads on down to Facebook like any other civilized human being.

Dejected from discovering that about three fourth's of her notifications were utter bullshit (why the hell should she give a flying fuck about Finland updating her status?! Seriously, though.), she ventures to her friends list and begins to handpick her weapon of choice. Scrolling through still feeling uninspired, she becomes unfocused on the screen and her thoughts start to travel elsewhere. A little "ping" sound emanating from her laptop reels her full attention back to the task at hand.

Once she wakes the screen back up, Julchen finds that the "ping" was, in fact, an alert telling her that she had received a new message. More specifically, a new message from one Heracles Karpusi. Eyes lighting up and widening, she excitedly exclaims "Greece!" _How could I have forgotten?_ She jovially reprimands herself, _he's been wanting my vag to alleviate his "D" for the past few years now!_ The "D," of course, being his _hard, massive_ debt. National debt that's been fucking up the EU's economy. The message was in the form of a chat, and popped up as a tab below her newsfeed. It simply said "hello." At reading it, she silently thanked God that he didn't resort to using some type of pick-up line to garner her attention. However, it makes sense to her considering his chill-as-fuck personality and the fact that he would never willingly behave in a similar manner to Turkey (a deep-rooted political turned social enemy of his).

As context, Sadiq Adnan and his band of idiots (read: friends) are the masters of cheap lines and catcalls. It's something that _every_ female nation has dealt with at some point (political ties are arbitrary when it comes to getting laid). His antics were the most difficult to endure near the end of the Ottoman Empire, otherwise known as his "old/sick man of Europe" days. Trying to keep his self-esteem up, which took a _very_ hard hit during this time given his previously enormously inflated ego, Turkey tried to get as much action as he could to feel powerful once again. At the time, Prussia had scoffed at his, in her humble opinion, _pathetic_ efforts. During the Nineteenth Century, she and her brother were rising as he was on a steady decline. She had been at the top of the world, rich with power, and had been since the previous century before that. She was happy to see the weak fall and get dissolved, be conquered by others. They deserved it in her mind. Now, however, she wishes that she could've stopped those thoughts from ever residing in her brain. Her gleeful expression has already dimmed, slowly transforming into something severe. Mouth pressed shut in a straight line, nowhere near resembling the grin she wore earlier as her thoughts raced on. Prussia, East Germany, Teutonic Order—whatever the fuck you want to call her—knows probably better than anyone how he felt. She and all the rest of the Empire went into (read: started) that war with such confidence, such high expectations, only to come out with devastation, _being motherfucking dissected and separated._ Julchen went from prevailing at the top (of continental Europe, at least...) to ensuing at the bottom, thanks to those asshat victors, in the span of about four years, and it crushed her so much more than she'd like to admit. _Only if I knew then what I'd become only twenty years after that...I wouldn't have been such a baby about it;_ she shudders at her dark musing. She certainly wasn't laughing then. How could she judge? Never in her life had she been more vulnerable. Not that she could remember, anyways. The fact of the matter is that she knows how Sadiq felt. And it sucks. So hard.

Memories of the trysts during that time flood her mind. Rendezvous that started out as kinky 'I'm-going-to-straddle-you-or-sit-on-your-lap-because-you're-in-a-wheelchair-but-can-still-use-your-hips (_I really need to think of a better way to phrase that..._) sex' ended in the two of them laying on the floor, both of them awkwardly holding the other whole pretending that they weren't crying. Contrary to presumed popular belief, those were some of her favorite reminiscences from the Twentieth Century. Despite the uncomfortable and unspoken pretexts, Julchen would never be blessed with being so _close_ to, so utterly intimate with another being. She really could've used that during her East Germany days. Although, Felicja's maternal-like embraces and forehead kisses _were_ a mighty fine substitute... As much as she hates to admit it, the memories of her and Roderich's..._times_ together kept her strong against Russia. The worst of nights became bearable at the thought of coming undone in front of her Austrian. More often than not, those thoughts would become recollections of him pressing fleeting, almost ticklish, kisses all over her body, gently undressing her as he goes. This would then lead her to remember and subsequently imagine the way he could completely dominate her by using his mouth and skilled tongue on her highly sensitive and defenseless clitoris. That familiar thought pattern would then lead her to the familiar feeling of a pillow smacking her head, followed by Belarus' warning hiss and squawking about how she's not allowed to masturbate when she's in the room. Only to result in a snickering Poland, a disgruntled Moldova, a blushing Ukraine, a pissed-off Georgia, an ever-frightened Latvia, and other confused, feminine groans emanating throughout the room. East, on the other hand, could never give anything less than a fuck and kept on going until she came, always sarcastically whimpering out the current General Secretary's name, just to further inform the Belorussian sheep of how little influence she had over the German. It was also a surefire method to prevent her from slipping and accidentally vocalizing Austria's name. Julchen knows that she could have never faced anyone after releasing a "RODERICH!" as she came.

The mentioning of his name brings her back from her thoughts and has to remind herself that she is, in fact, still angry at him. Sexually capable or not. Waking up her hibernating laptop once again, she finds that she had been lost in thought for so long that Heracles is no longer online. Emitting a groan of annoyance, she types in and sends a "hey, what's up?" despite his electronic unavailability. No more than thirty seconds later, he's back online. After a few seconds the ellipses appears, indicating that he's typing away. _Wow,_ she muses, _his boss must _really_ be nagging him to do this if he's responding this quickly..._ She chuckles to herself and waits for his reply.

* * *

After about a week of trials and trepidations, Roderich finally has a composition suitable for his cause. He can't rid himself of the feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him that it's not going to work. He chooses to ignore it as he attempts to gather the ingredients for the cake without having to buy anything. On that note, he makes a mental note of the flowers that he has in his garden. No way in hell is he going to pay for a bouquet when he has perfectly acceptable flowers growing in his backyard! _What a waste_, he scoffs to himself.

As he sets about his day and organizes all of the preparations, Roderich can't help but feel nervous. He has made it a point to not get close to nations on a personal level, despite how close they may be politically, for most of his adult life. However, he must admit to himself that he has been quite...reliant on his "friends" over time. He can't really even bring himself to call them "friends." He feels guilty knowing that deep inside those were selfish relationships. It is _still_ a bit painful to see Vash Switzerland after all these years, not that he really even remembers being that close to him. His relationship with Daniel is probably the best out of every other nation there is, but it's not ideal (although, his business with _Hungary_ is always more tense than his business with _Daniel_, believe it or not...). He never actually meant to rely so heavily on Hungary, it just sort of happened. The two are close, but he doesn't know Daniel on a personal level. Conversely, his relationship with Ludwig is probably the most uncomfortable. Austria influenced the boy almost as much as Prussia did, but he also got the...pleasure of being under the emotionally confused boy's command. Twice. Both didn't end so well, and now the blond's the strongest European there is these days. Part of him feels proud while the other part feels jealous. Roderich isn't sure how to act around him. Julchen is clearly Ludwig's older sibling figure, so that's not his role. He feels like an uncle of sorts, but Ludwig almost treats him like a senile parent at times. Certainly, asking the lad to be a human bench so he can rest his tried self for a bit doesn't help gain his respect in that department, but it was awkward even _before_ that incident. The only real pastime the two share is Austria bossing him around and Germany cleaning up after him. The two have a false sense of closeness, despite being actually just friends, plain and simple, in reality. Other then the obvious tensions the two may share, Roderich sometimes gets put off by Ludwig for the younger's insistence of being Julchen's keeper. He knows that it's foolish of him to think that way, but he can't help but feel threatened by the other's strong presence. Clearly the two men have _very_ different relationships with the albino, but it still hurts him a little inside that he isn't her number one. When The Wall fell, she instantly flung herself into her brother's arms. Of course, they had a reunion of a different nature late that night, but it was still a disappointment for him. Just like how Switzerland has Lichtenstein and how Hungary has Romania (no matter how much both men insist on denying it), Prussia will too probably end up eventually replacing him at some point. He'll always end up alone. Even that verdammt Vash, who adamantly _tried_ to isolate himself from the world, found himself a best friend, little sister figure to keep him company. At least back in the day Roderich had been strong and powerful. That knowledge alone made his loneliness seem worth it, at least. Yes, he _is_ currently quite wealthy with a nice, stable political system, but what global influence does he have? He's a washed-up old joke.

The only time he has induced fear into another nations' eyes within the past decade was this past October when he went over to America's house for a meeting. Austria didn't bother to knock before entering the door labeled "Official Office of Amelia Jones," and caught her spread out, naked on her desk underneath that northern nation that no one cares about (_British North America? Yes, that sounds right..._), the two of them undoubtedly in the middle of a sexual encounter. Although the fear came from the world's superpower followed by a chorus of "please don't tell Artie!" after the initial screech and poor attempt of clothing herself, it was overshadowed by his own fear when he met those deep indigo eyes of "the most polite nation on Earth." _Kuhscheiße._ Roderich concluded that guy was straight up terrifying, no matter how meek he may appear. The look he got from him unmistakably stated "get the fuck out and forget everything that you saw." He normally would've ignored such a threat (an _order_, especially), but that expression rivaled Russia's! Austria then remembers plastering on a fake smile, nodding his head at the United States' request, excusing himself, and finding the nearest restroom to evacuate his bowels. After that, the secretly tank of a nation (_Where did he hide all of that muscle under his suit? And he always had been that tall?!_) left and the meeting between the two remaining, intended nations went smoothly. Amelia even promised Roderich that she'd talk to Arnold about doing another movie! (_Don't judge. How could I not be a supporter of a talented, Austrian-born individual?_). They then said goodbye and she mentioned something about needing to find "Mattie," or something of that sort. Roderich honestly hadn't thought about the incident again until he watched the Olympic hockey final and recognized the nation sitting with his team and helping them with warm-ups. After the ex-British colony's victory, Austria gulped and reminded himself not to cross paths with the batshit New Worlder again. He was safe until some dumbass decided to plan a World Conference during the last week of the World Cup. It was even worse because they all agreed to watch the games together in the conference room. Surprise, surprise, pretty much everyone minus about ten people—and NONE of them being European, even England—rooted for Germany during the last game. Austria was too, until he accidentally made eye contact with the overprotective, lovesick North American, who was of course being unnecessarily affectionate with the Leader of the Free World. The scowl he received was convincing enough to join Team America. That switch earned him glares, especially from Prussia, but also earned him an excited hug from the seemingly oblivious woman whose significant other just straight up bullied him into supporting. Judging from the racket England reported at breakfast that next morning coming from America's hotel room that night _("Seriously, she just lost—I don't see why that requires her to go jumping on the bed with her brother late into the night! And why in heaven's name did she feel the need to sing his national anthem on the top of her lungs? Bloody git! She is such a child."_ Roderich was convinced that France's eyes were going to get screwed up in their sockets from how much she was rolling them. He almost felt bad for the deadbeat parent, as he clearly didn't understand why his girlfriend of sorts kept emitting her signature pervert laugh.), the self-proclaimed and universally—although begrudgingly—agreed beautiful nation certainly...appreciated her northern sidekick/lover. However, the fact that they _are_ siblings, and twins nonetheless, disturbs him quite a bit. But then again, he _is_ home to the Hapsburgs of all families...so who is he to judge? _Let's not answer that._ He shakes his head. Last month's events aren't certainly going to bother him now.

The point still remains the same. He's afraid to let Prussia in. It's not just the prospect of her hurting him that makes him proceed with caution, but the aftermath of such an incident. He'd officially have no one to help soften the painful, inevitable encounters. He has never been one to keep a lot of friends. Not only that, though. As much as he hates to admit it, he'd miss her. A lot. And not for selfish reasons: their battles of wit, her interference in his daily affairs, secretly reading her ridiculous diaries, the way she insists on snuggling after they make love, how she lets him braid her long silky hair, when she calls him "awesome" and cackles after hearing about one of his snarky, sassy comments or retorts. Hell, he even enjoys fussing over her, helping her conduct damage control after one of her drunken antics, letting her boss him around—and _liking_ it. He's in, and way too deeply for comfort. _Fick. I need her back._ Putting his nerves aside, Austria retrieves his phone and taps on Germany's name in his contacts list to call him. _It's only about eleven in the morning so I shouldn't be disturbing anything..._he thinks to himself as he hears ringing from the other line. A few moments later, the call was answered.

"Hallo?" came the gruff greeting. Roderich frowned slightly at the informality of such a greeting, but decided to be gratified by the familiarity of it. _Maybe I'm closer to Ludwig than I thought...or maybe his Italian schatz is rubbing off on him._ He almost "hmphs" at his speculation before catching himself from doing so.

"Guten tag, Germany. How are you?" Roderich deems it best to play it safe and use formalities.

"I am well, and yourself?" is the curt response.

"I am also well, thank you. Are you by any chance available to host a meeting for the two of us at your house? My boss has some things for me to discuss with you." Now that the obligatory social conventions have been met, he can now get down to business with the purpose of this call. He specifically asks for the meeting to be at the Germans' house so he can _accidentally run into_ der preußische that lives there.

"Ja, I believe that I am." Ludwig also seemed to be more comfortable once they got down to business, Roderich noted. "I am scheduled to work fro, home this upcoming Friday. Does that work for you?" He continued, all business.

"Ja, it does."

"Does one in the afternoon fit well in your schedule?"

"Danke schoen, it most certainly does. Auf Wiedersehen."

"Auf Wiedersehen."

_Click._


End file.
